


Phantom Pains

by superagentwolf



Series: Shades of Grey [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Ghost Hunters, Alternate Universe - No Werewolves, BAMF Stiles, Boss Derek Hale, M/M, Mild Gore, POV Stiles, Past Stiles Stilinski/Malia Tate, Stiles Feels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-10
Updated: 2015-08-03
Packaged: 2018-03-11 11:43:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 18,602
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3326168
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/superagentwolf/pseuds/superagentwolf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles works at the Center for Paranormal Analysis and Containment, aka C-PAC. Derek is Stiles' boss and his not-so-secret crush. After several years on the job, Stiles finally gets called on to join the team in a huge investigation. It's exciting and new, but there's something sinister about the Hunt. The dangers put a strain on the group's relationships and there are startling revelations concerning the nature of PAC and the ghosts they hunt.<br/>-<br/>Or, the one in which the pack are ghost hunters and Stiles and Derek are idiots about love.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Pre-Hunt

"Do you think Derek hates me?"

Scott raises his eyebrows as he stuffs his mouth with a sandwich that's almost two inches thick. Stiles is leaning back in his computer chair, pen tapping his lips nervously.

"Dereth doethnt lihe ennwone," Scott mumbles, a piece of lettuce charmingly dangling from the corner of his mouth.

Stiles rolls his eyes, smiling a little as he shoves the pen behind his ear, fingers tapping away at the keyboard before him. It's Monday, lunchtime, at the Center for Paranormal Analysis and Containment. As usual, Stiles and Scott have stayed behind to get extra work done. Well, _Stiles_ has stayed behind to get extra work done. It's a mark of dedication that Stiles usually stays in for lunch, skipping it completely or haphazardly juggling a burger over his computer.

"How long do you think the rest of the pack will be?" Stiles wonders aloud, typing one-handed as his fingers grope for a spare sheet of paper.

"You know Derek hates it when you use the acronym like that," Scott reminds Stiles, swallowing a bite of sandwich so he can speak clearly.

"Pft. We both know I don't really care what Derek thinks."

"That's not true," Scott replies, swiveling his chair towards Stiles.

"Okay, well, I don't care what _consequences_ Derek threatens."

"Whatever," Scott replies cheerily, a handful of chips disappearing into his open mouth. Stiles wrinkles his nose at the crunching noise, brow furrowed as he concentrates on his laptop screen.

Getting a job at the PAC was Stiles' dream at one point. He thought it would be perfect for utilizing his research skills and all the odd knowledge he has about the paranormal. He _thought_. Truthfully, he _is_ using his skills- but Derek Hale makes life _very_ difficult for Stiles. Both Stiles and Scott had applied for internships in high school; they'd quickly landed the jobs and had stayed on ever since. Stiles works more in logistics- he plans and researches for Hunts and helps set up equipment. Scott works in the field, using his emotional strength and stability to carry out investigations without interference from ghosts or poltergeists.

Stiles _loves_ his job. He also happens to _love_ his boss. Who may or may not _hat_ _e_ him.

"We're back!" Lydia calls as she enters, all business in a pencil skirt. Lydia acts as a scientific investigator, focusing on the layout of the land and structural integrity. It's Lydia's job to ensure that phenomena aren't attributable to natural causes- which, eighty percent of the time, they are.

"Hey. How's it going?" Kira asks Scott, bending swiftly to kiss his cheek. Kira is a relatively newer investigator- she mainly works as their public liaison but also assists Lydia and Scott as needed.

Isaac works with the cameras, keeping an eye on positioning and battery. Malia- a kind-of-ex of Stiles'- works in the field with Scott. Derek, the frustrating subject of conversation, is a tech specialist and the face of PAC. They're a family and Stiles _loves_ it..

"Well, I think the reference databases for Cat-1 through 6 Poltergeists is up to scratch now," Stiles says aloud, spinning in his chair as he rhythmically waves his pen.

"That's all you did?" Malia asks bluntly, chewing on the straw of her cup.

"Ex _cuse_ you? _All_? I just aggregated a _shit_ ton of  _outside_ research into a user-friendly, keyword-driven database," Stiles argues, angrily throwing his pen onto the desk. 

Malia raises her hands with a 'sorry I said anything' expression and Stiles pouts, crossing his arms.

"Sounds cool," Kira says helpfully, always the peacemaker.

Stiles grins at Kira, opening the database to show her.

"Look, you can narrow it first by Category and then enter search terms- it references any verified documentation we have from outside sources. There's a separate search list that appears alongside it with speculated activity- it's designed to give us immediate help with identifying Categories and associated phenomena-,"

"Impressive," a rough voice interrupts, and Stiles squeaks a little as he leans forward, away from the voice issuing from behind his ear.

"Der-,"

"Is this available on every computer?" Derek asks, ignoring Stiles' protest.

"N- no, not yet. I just designed this real quick, I have to shoot it out to Danny for fine-tuning as far as the program goes. We should have an app available by tomorrow morning."

"Hm. Nice," Derek murmurs, casting one last glance over the page before retreating to the frosted glass walls of his office.

The pack is silent for a moment before they continue chatting. Stiles stares at his screen for thirty more seconds before Malia interrupts him.

"Stiles, you're drooling on your laptop."

The pen Stiles halfheartedly throws lands at Malia's feet.

 

* * *

 

It's three o'clock on Tuesday and suddenly everyone's laptop chimes with a haunting melody. Stiles grins, recognizing his homage to the X-Files. The team chatbox opens on his desktop and he sees the message from Derek, black text stark against the white background.

**drkh4 >Meeting in five minutes to discuss Hunt.**

It's short and to the point. Stiles opens up a new chatbox and shoots a quick message to Scott.

**stilawesome >whadaya think?**

**mcca11 >dunno**

**stilawesome >dude, seriously**

**mca11 >um maybe that thing at the apartment complex**

Stiles chews his lip, fingers tapping silently against his desk.

Four minutes later the pack rise simultaneously, chatting easily as they make their way towards the conference room.

"So?" Stiles prompts, catching up to Kira as they enter the room.

"What?"

"What do you- so, what is it? The Hunt?"

"You'll see," Kira says, smiling, vaguely amused.

It's typical of Stiles to ask about a Hunt in advance. He really likes to know ahead of time what he's dealing with. No one ever tells him.

Derek enters the room about five seconds after they get settled and the chatter dies away quickly. The door closes behind him and he sits at the head of the table, a thin file sliding onto the smooth wood quietly. A single click from the projector remote dims the lights and the machine flickers to life, dim picture on the wall sharpening to a clear image.

"These are the Fairwoods Apartments. They're located Tower Heights, about a forty minute drive from Beacon Hills."

Stiles frowns, glancing at Scott. _We don't operate that far out._

"The complex is a refurbished building from roughly the late eighties. There's no record of unusual incidents or any type of violent history. For the most part, Fairwoods is a relatively clean slate."

Derek clicks forward and the slide changes, this time showing the inside of an apartment. It's stylish in a laid-back, industrial way- the exposed brick walls are softly lit with buttery lights and the furniture is soft and muted.

"So what's wrong with it?" Isaac asks, pencil tapping once against his notepad. Stiles can see the sections he's made on the paper- areas for a list of camera types, cords, and other equipment.

"This," Derek says calmly, and Stiles feels everyone reflexively move back an inch at the next image. He wonders what it means when he doesn't.

The image shows bricks protruding from the same wall they'd just seen, strange, blackish liquid staining the crevasses. The string of lights hangs from the ceiling, cord cleanly cut and bulbs missing from their bases. The hardwood floor looks scratched, visible gauges torn in different directions. Most of the furniture has been overturned, fabric and other materials violently torn.

"Where did the bulbs go?" Stiles asks, gazing intently at the screen.

Scott looks incredulously at Stiles. Derek's lips twitch ever so slightly and Stiles almost faints. _Was that a smile?! It was, wasn't it?!_

"They seem to have been cleanly removed. There are no signs of force or destruction. There is no glass in the room or the surrounding apartments."

"So the glass just- disappeared," Malia says flatly, waving her hands vaguely.

"It has to be _somewhere_ ," Lydia reasons, eyes narrowed as she gazes at the picture.

"Well, we may be able to find it," Derek says, opening the file in front of him.

The papers in his file are tailored to each investigator. Stiles watches as he slides them to Kira for circulation around the table. The stack gets thinner and thinner until it reaches Stiles. There's one page left.

"Wait- I'm going with you?" Stiles asks incredulously, gazing at the paper.

"Be ready to leave from here tomorrow at 8 am. We're following Tier 4 procedure," Derek says, effectively ignoring Stiles as he rises to leave. "I'll see you all then."

The team watches Derek go silently until the door shuts with a final _click_.

"Oh my god," Stiles says, staring at the paper in his hands.

"This is serious," Lydia says faintly, red nails tapping against her paper nervously.

"If I'm going- we must be staying at least three days," Stiles says suddenly, blinking in shock.

Most of their real investigations don't last more than two days; there's one day for the preliminary examination with Lydia and a second day with field work with Scott, Kira, and Isaac. After two days they can typically wrap up an investigation and contain the incident. Most investigations don't make it past one day- assumed paranormal phenomena can usually be explained by structural integrity and utilities. For Stiles' skills to be required, there have to be established phenomena and at least three degrees of witnesses.

"Well. Let's get to work," Malia says, and Stiles faintly agrees.

They have a lot of planning to do.

 


	2. Day 1 - Interviews

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The team get ready for the Hunt. While Lydia takes a group to investigate the building, Derek puts Stiles in charge of interviews. The accounts vary, but things get disturbing when one of the residents describes an unsettling chain of events.

"Thank you _so_ much," Stiles gushes as he runs down the sidewalk, backpack heavy on his shoulder.

_"Hey, no problem. I like doing side projects,"_ Danny says, voice tinny through the cell phone.

"Well, this one earned you a free dessert. I'll make it after the Hunt!"

Danny cheers through the phone and Stiles laughs, hanging up as he makes his way towards C-PAC. He's extremely early- it's barely 7:15; Derek probably isn't even awake yet. One of Stiles' arms is rapidly growing numb with the weight of the large bag he's carrying; there are breakfast burritos and pastries galore that are only barely guaranteed to satisfy the insane hunger of the pack. Stiles has always had a great sense of pride in his cooking and baking abilities and he generally uses them to wheedle favors out of his friends. Today, however, he's decided to use the homemade breakfast as a surprise treat to commemorate his first Hunt.

Stiles is one of the only ones with a key to C-PAC. It isn't legit, of course- he shudders to think what Derek would do if he found out Stiles has 24/7/365 access to the building. In any case it's come in handy for the times when Stiles wants to get stuff done. Today he slips inside, quickly setting up the food on the reception desk before dumping his backpack by the door. The coffee shop around the corner is thankfully open and he makes a quick run, rattling off the order with precision. He _knows_ his friends- cream or sugar, nonfat, whipped cream or no- and the order is readily recited, like some sort of pledge. The only one he changes is Derek's. Derek likes his coffee plain and simple, like he likes most things. Stiles decides he's going to risk his neck when he asks the barista for a splash of hazelnut and caramel. The barista gives Stiles a worried glance when he takes the drinks, all seven balanced in both of his arms as he rushes back to headquarters.

The office is blessedly empty as Stiles arranges the coffee cups, names on the side written in bold, black marker. _Queen. Snarky. Sunshine. Loverboy. Wild._ He grins at the last one, placing it front and center, curving black handwriting proudly proclaiming _Sourwolf_. Stiles' own coffee cup is in his hand, _Mute_ written across the front. He giggles in an entirely un-manly fashion as he looks at the word, trying hard not to snort the coffee back up his nose. He can't count the number of times Derek has threatened his throat or complained about his incessant talking. It seems to fit.

"Food!" Scott cries as he walks through the door, face lighting up as he takes in the spread. Kira laughs, greeting Stiles with a sisterly kiss as she compliments his danishes. Scott protests at his cup and Kira seems pleased with hers, teasing Scott as they load up their plates. Malia and Isaac arrive at nearly the same time, Isaac raising an eyebrow at the moniker ("Dude, you _just_ proved me right") while Malia loads her plate with calculated hunger. Lydia is fashionably late, rolling her shiny suitcase with perfectly manicured nails. Her approving smile tells Stiles she likes the coffee and he feels a sense of pride in the fact that she takes her time sampling a little of everything.

Derek arrives last, at approximately 7:40, with a characteristically rumpled backpack and his familiar leather jacket. Stiles pretends not to watch as he quietly regards his coffee, fingers spinning the cup to read the name. Stiles barely hears over the rest of the pack but he could swear Derek snorts a little. The man takes his time with the breakfast tacos, finding the ones with extra bacon that Stiles purposely stuck at the bottom for him.

"Thanks for breakfast, man," Scott says happily as he finishes devouring a scone.

"No problem. Everything okay?"

"I may kidnap you to cook me food," Malia says bluntly as she munches on a sausage taco, and Stiles grins. Malia isn't the culinary type and she certainly isn't adventurous. It's a high compliment.

Derek makes a rumble of approval from his place and Stiles turns, hoping that no one notices when he feels his ears burn.

"What's in this?" Derek asks, and his tone isn't hostile. It's not happy, either, but hey. Stiles takes what he gets.

"Hazelnut and caramel," Stiles manages offhandedly, as if it were no big deal. Derek nods.

Stiles _thinks_ the edges of Derek's lips curve upwards, but that could just be the coffee.

 

* * *

 

The trip to Fairwoods is relatively short- Tower Heights isn't far and Stiles is almost entirely certain that Isaac drives five miles over the speed limit on a _bad_ day. Derek has shotgun as per usual (according to the others) and he spends most of his time typing away, fingers flying as he cross-references things and takes pre-investigation notes. It's fun and they mostly listen to random stations, switching between songs and laughing as Scott gets prodded by Kira into singing off-key. Lydia has a nice voice, though, and she and Kira tear it up when they start jamming. Malia is pretty much tone-deaf and she purposely starts a song so that they ask her _not_ to sing anymore. Isaac doesn't sing and Derek keeps a just-calm silence as he works away. They repeatedly try to make Stiles sing but he refuses, ears turning red as he remembers being five years old, singing with his mother. He's fairly certain his voice is actually pretty good but he doesn't want to sing with Derek so close by.

They arrive at Fairwoods in good spirits, ready to get started. Before they can even leave the van, though, Derek calls for their attention.

"Does everyone remember Tier 4 procedure?"

The van is mostly silent and Stiles bites his tongue, rocking in his seat a bit before blurting out what he remembers.

"Tier 4 is for substantiated phenomena. Presumed paranormal activity in the range of poltergeists and residual hauntings. At least three degrees of witnesses and two or more physically or mentally affected individuals involved. Proceed with caution and document as much of the investigation as possible."

Derek nods shortly, fingers running along the edge of his laptop.

"I don't need to tell you all to be careful. Remember those pictures."

And then Derek exits the van and they let out a breath, exchanging worried looks.

There's a young man waiting for them on the front steps of the apartment. Fairwoods is surprisingly located on the fringes of the downtown area, almost on the border of an empty, rural expanse of woods. The nearest house is three minutes away, visible but not near enough for any kind of mutual witnesses. Stiles scratches the curve of his ear with a stylus, tablet phone ready and resting in his palm. The man is probably Derek's age, mid-twenties, with sandy hair and green eyes. Stiles thinks he's handsome enough but every time he looks at his eyes they seem hazel and then his hair gets darker and Stiles curses himself and Derek multiple times in his head.

"Hi. I'm Jay Keary, I spoke with you over the phone."

Stiles watches as Jay and Derek briefly shake hands. Jay has dark shadows under his eyes, vaguely slumped posture and tired movements betraying exhaustion. _He seems defeated_ , Stiles thinks as he pulls up a map on his phone.

"So I'll show you to your apartment first," Jay says, and as he turns Stiles watches his face. He looks back at the building as if he's not sure what it will do. As if it could _do_ something. As if it's _alive_. He scratches a post-it onto his phone with the other observations, saving it for the interview.

The apartment makes Kira gasp in astonishment. Lydia appreciatively gives it a once-over as they walk in, looking over the features. It's stylish, exposed brick walls lit with a buttery glow from the overhead lights. The kitchen is small in a cozy way, a sturdy wood table arranged right outside the entryway. The living room is furnished with faux-leather sofas, plush pillows in artfully varied prints strewn on the cushions. The two bedrooms are equally breathtaking, large beds outfitted with smooth linens, curtains gauzy waterfalls that absorb the warm sun. Everything is wood and brick and accented metals.

"Well, it's small for seven people-," Jay begins, and Kira quickly cuts him off.

"It's lovely. I'm sure you have plenty of people willing to buy up the apartments."

"I _would_ ," Jay says tiredly, running a hand through his hair. "I really would. But this... _thing_...,"

"Is this the room at the relative center of the building?" Stiles asks, and he pretends not to notice when everyone startles slightly.

"Well, it's...second floor, middle of the corridor...I suppose," Jay says slowly.

"Good. We need a base and it usually helps if it's at the center. Easier to branch out from," Stiles explains, setting down the equipment he'd helped carry. "I know Kira and Scott asked for initial statements but we'll have to do formal interviews as well. We'll also need access to all floors and rooms- Lydia will lead a group in checking out the structure; do you have a blueprint for the building?"

Jay is silent for a moment, blinking at the sudden flow of information. Malia looks vaguely impressed and Derek is surprisingly reticent.

"Sure. I- some of the old tenants moved out but the Guemes girl and the Hammonds are still here. Did you want to check the building out first, or-?"

"We'll do a structural check first," Derek says, signaling at Lydia, who quickly begins to unpack her equipment. "Interviews usually run concurrently if possible. If you could send the tenants to the ground floor we'll see them in the common area."

Jay disappears after a minute to do his side of the work and Derek crosses his arms, surveying the team.

"Lydia, take Isaac, Scott, and Malia. Isaac, keep an eye out for places to set up equipment. Kira, Stiles, you're with me."

 

* * *

 

 

Stiles almost chokes on his spit when Derek tells him to conduct the interviews.

The common area is cozy, soft couches illuminated in the morning light. They set up a camera in the far left corner of the room and a recorder on the desk at the back center where they'll interview people. There's another camera set up in the hall where the others will wait; it's a precaution in case any phenomena occur. Stiles carefully adjusts the recorder and plugs it into his computer, checking the voice-to-word program he's running. It's a lot faster than typing up transcripts and he can add his own observations as they go.

"We're ready," Stiles tells Jay, and the man nods before opening the door.

The first interviewee is a woman who appears to be only twenty-three. She looks like a harried college student in her last semester of study- messy ponytail, comfy sweats, jumpy leg. Stiles immediately taps a few words onto the note side of the transcript. _Jumpy. Anxious. Scared?_

"Hello. My names is Stiles. For the purpose of this interview, I'd like to ask that you not discuss any questions or answers with anyone outside of this room until the interviews have concluded. Would you please state your name and apartment number for the record?"

"Macy Hammond, Apartment 5C," the woman says, and Stiles watches as she leans forward, an unsure expression on her face.

"Stiles Stilinski," Stiles says clearly, smiling reassuringly at Macy. "Now, there are a few questions I'd like to ask you, but before we begin, is there anything you'd like to state for the record?"

"Mmm...no," Macy says, and she looks like she's been asked a trick question.

"All right. Macy, when did you first move into Fairwoods Apartments?"

"It was August. About six months ago."

"Would you tell me why you moved here?"

"I was starting my last semester at the college. I didn't want to live on campus; Aaron- that's my husband- he works at the local high school. I thought it would be an easier commute if we both lived somewhere kind of...in-between."

"Was Fairwoods your first choice?"

"Well...it was, I guess. It was in a good spot. I didn't- we weren't really looking into it much. We figured, you know- wherever works."

"Did you tour the apartments before making a payment?"

"Yeah. We wanted to check it out, you know- just in case."

"Did you notice anything during your first visit?"

"Um...not...like what? We didn't have ghosts breathing down our necks, if that's what you're asking."

Stiles makes a note as Macy speaks. _Disbelieving. Irritated._

"Anything out of the ordinary, something that was...different, but maybe not necessarily alarming."

"No," Macy replies firmly, and Stiles nods, fingers tapping at his keyboard again. _Sure. Denial?_

"Did you ever personally experience anything strange in Fairwoods?"

"A month after we moved in my towels were ruined when I washed them downstairs," Macy says vaguely, waving a hand dismissively. "I set the load and left and when I came back, the water was all brown and nasty. I told Jay and he got maintenance to check it out...the guy said it was probably residue since the pipes were new and might have had stuff in them from construction."

"Did you notice anything else at the time?"

"No. It was just water," Macy says, and Stiles tries not to huff in frustration. _Blunt. Short. Uncaring._

"Was that the only incident you personally encountered?"

"Yeah," Macy says, sighing and shifting back in her chair. Stiles tries not to grind his teeth.

"All right. If that's all-,"

"What, aren't you going to ask about Arie?"

"I'm sorry?" Stiles blinks, fingers pausing over the keyboard.

"That silly little bi-," Macy pauses, glancing at the recorder warily. "Bibliophile."

_Wow, nice FAIL,_ Stiles thinks to himself, annoyed. Macy is really starting to piss him off. He lets his silence do the talking.

"You know- it's _her_ stupid deal, this whole _ghost_ thing," Macy says disdainfully. "She's just- she just wants attention."

"Well. We typically don't get secondhand accounts unless they're necessary," Stiles says evasively, smiling his best customer-service smile. "So if that's all, I think we're done here."

Macy gives him a vague once-over, shrugging before he stops the recording, watching her go silently.

"Kill me please," Stiles mutters, and Kira daintily stifles a laugh. Derek huffs, obviously annoyed. "Well, hopefully the others will go better."

 

* * *

 

 

Aaron thankfully proved slightly more personable than Macy. In fact, Stiles began to wonder why they were married. Aaron recounted his few experiences- things moving around the apartment, certain lights not working only to come on again when he was about to replace them. They were mostly mundane and he seemed relatively assured they were perfectly explainable. He also had something to say about Arie, though.

"Poor thing. She's living alone; I'm sure it must be hard. Especially being further from town," Aaron had explained. _Concerned,_ Stiles wrote, and he wondered if Macy's anger didn't stem from Aaron's obvious caring. If so, it was more than a little repulsive.

Arie is the last interviewee. She walks in quietly, hugging a knit cardigan close to her body. She's wearing an oversized Panic at the Disco tank top and multicolored leggings, slippers scratching quietly against the floor as she makes her way to the table. _Maybe twenty-two. Worried. Cute. Approachable._

Stiles runs her through the usual beginning, name and apartment number (Arie Guemes, 3B) and request for interview silence.

"Is there anything you'd like to state for the record?"

"My goldfish died," Arie blurts, and she immediately pales, fingers rubbing over her wide eyes for a moment. "Sorry. That's- it's silly, I know. Inconsequential. But I- I  got home and it was _there_ , lying in the entryway. My fishbowl was by my bed."

"When was this?"

"About a month after I moved in. Maybe October. I got here in September, around my birthday."

"Was your apartment locked?" Stiles asks, typing as he speaks. _Genuine fear. Confusion._

"It was. I don't usually lock it; I feel like there's no point- but I did, because I thought I was going to be gone for the weekend."

"Who else has a key?"

"Just Jay, and he wasn't here, he was gone the whole week, visiting family. I remember- I tried to explain it. I thought, maybe it was someone playing a prank. Only the Hammonds- they have no way to get in. There's no way to get up, either, there aren't any fire escapes or anything. You can't climb the brick. I just- I couldn't think that someone would bring a ladder and _kill_ my _fish_ and just- just do that," Arie says, and she runs her fingers through her pixie cut. The haircut makes her eyes look a little bigger, a little wider. _Like a child._

"So you say you moved here in September. Why?"

"It was my birthday. I'd been waiting to get a place of my own. I don't like staying on campus and I don't have class every day. I work as an online tutor, so I don't have to physically be anywhere most of the time."

"Was Fairwoods your first choice?"

"God, yes," Arie says, laughing a little brokenly. "It's gorgeous, you know? I wanted it. I liked it, loved the price- it was amazing."

"Was the goldfish the first strange thing that happened?"

"I guess. I'd always find things in other places, lose things- I thought it was just me. Maybe it was. It happens; I lose things, can never find them, and then I do, just _there_ , right in front of me. The goldfish was the first, though."

"There were other things?"

"Yeah. I mean- nothing so big at first. I'd turn the tap in the shower and nothing would come out. I'd look up at the shower head and it would spray me in the fast after a minute," she added, laughing a little. "It was funny at first. Silly. Like movies, when you get a new apartment and dumb and annoying stuff happens to you and you talk about it with your friends and family."

"When did it escalate?"

"Maybe December. Early in the month- I remember, the Hammonds were arguing one night about Christmas vacation. They...," Arie trailed off, unsure.

"This interview is in complete confidence. If it helps you remember, you can continue."

"Macy didn't want to go home. Aaron did. They were arguing. Macy wanted Christmas together as a couple. They were waiting for the elevator; I'd just got in. They stopped talking when I showed up. We got in the elevator. Aaron asked me how I was doing. He asked me about break. I mentioned I might not get to go home. Macy interrupted, said they wouldn't be here so not to count on them. Aaron seemed angry. I got off on the third floor. It was about two hours later- maybe 10:53, I remember thinking I needed to shower and get to bed- and I heard thumping. I couldn't tell where it was coming from, so I walked around for a bit. I gave up and went to take a shower. When I was in the shower I thought I heard voices. Screaming. I figured it was the Hammonds. And...and then I...I must have slipped, or...I don't know. I just felt the bottom of my stomach fall out, and then I was on my back and my head hurt and I was coughing out water. I tried to get up and I shut off the water, grabbed a towel. I heard a popping noise. I thought someone broke in and so I shut the light off in the bathroom, took the towel bar off the wall and opened the door. I went to the door and it was locked. When I...when I went to the living room, it was a mess."

_It was her apartment,_ Stiles realizes, remembering the picture Derek had shown them. _How did all of that happen in such little time?_

"Was this the last thing that happened?"

"It was. I hadn't been back in my apartment since. I came back today when Jay called."

"All right. If that's all, you can go," Stiles says quietly, watching as Arie nods, slowly picking herself up before exiting the room.

"How did all of that happen in ten minutes?" Kira wonders, and Stiles hears an edge of fear in her voice.

"That's what we're here to find out," Derek says quietly, and he rises as Stiles shuts down the recorder.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoa, this was long. I didn't want the whole chapter to be interviews but it was really important to get some sense of the characters that will show up every now and then during the Hunt. From here on out it'll mostly be the team working on their investigation. As usual, this is unbeta'd because I am not regular enough to HAVE a beta. Please stick around for the ride, and remember, read & review!


	3. Day 1 - Setup

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The crew goes over the interviews and measurements together. It seems like there are no rational explanations but Derek wants to make sure they exhaust all possibilities. It's all good and well until Stiles goes on baseline duty with Lydia. Is there something they're missing, or could the phenomena really be supernatural?

"So what's the deal?" Derek asks, arms crossed as he gazes down at the dinner table.

"Seems stable enough," Lydia says, rolling the blueprint copy out onto the table. She pulls a pen out from behind her ear and uses it to point, tapping the fifth floor. "The Hammonds' apartment has no evidence of faulty utilities and the surrounding apartments are in good shape. Most of this place hasn't been lived in yet."

"Arie's apartment seems to be in good shape. Other than the oozing walls. And missing lightbulbs," Isaac adds, shrugging.

"There don't seem to be any problems with the surrounding land. No evidence of shifting or any type of instability that would cause issues with the utilities or building," Malia notes, chewing on her pencil.

"So I guess we've ruled out almost every scientific explanation," Stiles mutters, chewing the side of his lip.

"Almost," Scott says, working through the papers in the preliminary case file. "How did the interviews go?"

"Macy Hammond seems...," Kira trails off, grasping for words.

"Like a paranoid, jealous bitch," Stiles adds helpfully, grabbing a chair so he can prop his feet on the edge of the table.

"Well, she _did_ seem kind of nervous at the beginning," Kira argues, and Stiles nods.

"Yeah, she was vaguely jumpy. It was only when we started asking about phenomena that she decided to get bitchy."

"Aaron seemed like a nice guy," Kira says thoughtfully.

"Yeah, wonder how that happened. Doesn't seem like he'd be with Macy."

"There didn't seem to be any discrepancies in their accounts," Derek interrupts, getting to the point as usual.

"Macy mentioned something about the washing machines spewing dirty, brown water. She says a maintenance guy brushed it off as 'probably' residue," Stiles notes, flipping through the transcript on his tablet.

"That doesn't make sense. Were they the first to live here? I mean, don't they run those things or something?" Scott frowns.

"I'm not sure. Maybe. Either way there may be no point in following up if we can't find the exact guy. Besides which they may not even remember if they ran the machines."

"What about the goldfish? Losing things, the shower head, the destroyed living room. Those can't be pranks, right?" Kira muses.

"I don't see how the goldfish was possible. Lydia, is it possible to reach the third story window and enter?" Stiles asks.

"You'd need a service ladder, something _really_ tall. It would take a minute or two to get up and the window would have to be unlocked. They're pretty impossible to open without breaking the latches and they were all intact."

"She said Jay has the other key but he wasn't in town. Kira, please double-check. Also, she mentioned what sounded like a blackout and a 'popping noise' the day her living room was ruined. Scott, will you try and get her medical history? We need to exhaust all possible explanations," Derek says, running a hand over his nearly clean-shaven jaw.

"I think we should keep an eye on the Hammonds," Stiles volunteers, and Kira looks over at him, confused.

"Why? You think they'd do this?"

"Is it even humanly possible? I don't know, maybe, but Arie said she heard voices and screaming the night her apartment was ruined. If it really was the Hammonds...," Stiles trails off, an uneasy feeling developing in the pit of his stomach.

"It could be a poltergeist," Isaac realizes, finishing Stiles' thought.

"Let's hope this is just Macy's inability to cope with school and her husband," Stiles replies, sighing before he stands, stretching slowly. "Time to set up."

 

* * *

 

 

"Isaac, be careful," Kira calls as she holds Scott's ladder. Stiles snorts, bracing the barely six-foot ladder as Isaac sets up a camera.

"Please, he's got _me_ holding his ladder."

"That's why she's worried," Isaac snarks, and Stiles sticks his tongue out.

"You almost done in here?" Derek pokes his head in, a pencil stuck behind his ear.

_Gah. So cute,_ Stiles thinks, and then he shakes himself (mentally, so Isaac won't fall, because Stiles doesn't _hate_ him).

"Yup," Isaac returns, descending the ladder carefully. "We've got the main entrance, Arie's apartment, the outside, the Hammonds', and the hallways. We should be good to go."

"Okay. Stiles, you and Lydia are on baseline duty. Everyone else head back to base."

Stiles is more than a little excited. Baseline is _fun_ , no matter how much everyone else likes to gripe about it. It may seem boring to take temperature readings and mark placement but Stiles likes the thrill of establishing- well, a _baseline_ to go off of.

"We'll start at the Hammonds'," Lydia says as Stiles catches up with her at base. "I'll mark placement, you take temp."

The Hammonds' apartment is nice; Stiles is glad Lydia took charge of placement. Marking surfaces with washable chalk and crayon is scary, especially when the items being circled and boxed are more expensive than your life. Stiles holds his phone in one hand as he takes temp in another, carefully walking around a room to ensure there are no cold or hot spots. Most of the temperature changes are easily explained- appliances and utilities easily cause drops or rises in temperature.

"Anything yet?" Lydia calls from the bathroom as she places short lines around the circumference of the shampoo bottles.

"Nothing. Casper's really good at hide-and-seek," Stiles jokes, smiling to himself as he continues. Lydia doesn't laugh.

The baseline measurements are fairly normal. They quickly make their way down the hallway and the surrounding apartments and then they're walking into Arie's room and Stiles is seeing the reality of their investigation for the first time.

The living room is a mess. Most of the paper and trash has been cleared away but the oozing stains remain and there are bricks pulled partway out from the wall. Some of the furniture looks as if it's been bumped into, knocked askew but never straightened.

"Well, time to get to work," Stiles murmurs, and Lydia starts marking her way from the bedroom at the other side of the apartment. Stiles slowly paces the kitchen, marking the temp and making his way towards the living room. He's almost afraid to enter, but he glances down the hall and sees Lydia marking a lamp in the bedroom.

_Don't be stupid. Just go._

When he takes a step into the living room he doesn't expect to feel what he does.

There's nothing.

No cold spots, no warm spots, no sense of dread other than the uneasiness he'd been carrying with him the whole time. _That wasn't bad,_ Stiles thinks, and then he sees something in the ventless fireplace.  _What is that?_ It's bright and small, stuck in the back where the corners meet and the wood is piled up. He sticks his phone into his back pocket, thermometer abandoned on the mantlepiece. He's down on his knees in a second, fingers grasping, legs thrown out behind him.

His fingers brush the back wall of the fireplace. It feels hot.

_Shit-_

In the split second it takes Stiles to yank his body out of the fireplace, a brick falls.

 

* * *

 

 

"That's gonna hurt," Malia notes as Scott winces at the bruise on Stiles' leg. It's already flowering dark purple and red.

"It already does."

"So the back wall was hot? Did it stay hot?" Derek asks, pacing agitatedly.

"No. I felt it as I was looking around the fireplace. I briefly touched the back wall and when it felt hot I tried to back out as quickly as possible. I know- when things are warm to the touch it usually indicates poltergeist activity. I didn't get a reading."

"We're just glad it didn't hit your head," Kira says, worriedly rubbing Scott's arm.

"Well, at least we can record this. Did you check the footage?"

"I went through it. Night vision/thermal wasn't on, so no temp- but we _did_ catch your ghostly brick," Isaac says, tapping the spacebar on his laptop.

Stiles watches himself jerk back out of the fireplace, sees the brick already falling, barely missing his head and landing on his calf instead. It's vaguely disturbing to see an inanimate object simply fly partway out of the wall.

"I checked the integrity of the other bricks. They seem pretty firmly in place even though they stick out," Stiles says, wincing as he stretches his leg. It _does_ hurt.

"We'll just have to wait and watch," Derek says, and he doesn't sound happy. "Stick in pairs at the least. Remember to be in cam-shot _or_ use a personal recorder. Let someone know where you are at all times."

"What about the tenants?" Stiles asks tersely, shivering in his hoodie.

"Don't tell them yet. If it _is_ a poltergeist, we may just make it worse. I gave them lockdown protocol; they're staying downstairs."

"All right. I guess it's time for us to start sleep shifts," Isaac says, and he taps the clipboard hanging on the wall. Derek nods, running a hand through his short, dark hair.

"Be smart, people. Be safe."

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Man, it took forEVER for my computer to update. I hope you guys enjoy the update- we're going to be having some fun from now on! For those of you who know a little something about paranormal investigation, please forgive my own terminology and pseudo-lingo! I know a bit about ghost hunting but I use the terms in different ways for C-PAC. Also: yes, it is possible to have a fireplace in an apartment. There are both electric ones and ventless, alcohol-fuel based ones. I did too much research on this. Anyhow, remember to review and share!


	4. Night 1/Day 2: Recording

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Night is rapidly approaching and the team is preparing for the unknown. There are more than a few strange things happening, though, and Stiles thinks he knows what's going on.

Stiles can't sleep.

They're taking shifts but he finds himself staring at the dim recording light on the camera anyways. The night is still and the others make no sound, shifting every now and then, soft breathing barely audible. The two bedrooms have been split between the girls and guys, cameras set up in the corners just in case. Stiles tries to distract himself by counting the number of times the camera light blinks but by the time he reaches one hundred he feels borderline insane.

It's a task to get up and maneuver around Scott and Isaac as he makes his way to the foyer. Derek is on shift- it's the main reason Stiles avoided getting up for so long. Derek's a strict believer in rest and sleep schedules even if he doesn't set a good example himself. Either way Stiles is prepared to get a scolding for being up.

It's painful to walk slowly, the bruise on his left leg twinging painfully with each step. Stiles wonders how long it'll take to disappear.

"You should be asleep."

Stiles bites his lip, eyes closing for a second as he pauses in the middle of his slow trek. He's still a foot away from the foyer and he can't even _see_ Derek. His leg throbs for a second.

"-ngh."

"Stiles?"

Derek sounds equal parts amazed and frustrated. Stiles has to wonder for a moment at the juxtaposition.

"Heeeeeeyyyy," Stiles manages awkwardly, drawing out the syllables as he pads around the corner, ever so slightly off-balance.

"Why are you up, you're-,"

"Dude, I've had worse," Stiles interrupts, and he almost winces at how bad that sounds. Derek doesn't look convinced. "Lacrosse, remember?"

Derek snorts but doesn't say anything. Stiles takes a moment to feel self-pity at the idea that Derek doesn't think Stiles can handle pain or injury. He's a man! Kind of.

"There any particular reason you've decided to grace me with your presence?"

Stiles coughs to cover his giggle. He loves it when Derek's sarcastic. The guy is so dour it's sometimes hard to remember that he's a complete human being with a whole range of emotions.

"Can't really sleep. Meds," Stiles says flippantly, waving a hand haphazardly. "Anyways, you could use some sleep."

"It's barely been twenty minutes," Derek says stonily, and Stiles has an image of him as a gargoyle that almost makes him giggle again.

"Right, and I'm not getting any more tired. _You_ are. Just let me take a longer shift- it'll help me sleep."

"I don't need you falling asleep on shift."

"I won't. If I get tired too fast, I can always wake someone else. All it'll do is bump people around a bit. No big."

Stiles watches Derek consider the thought, frowning fiercely.

"Fine. But-,"

"Cool, thanks Der, off you go," Stiles rushes, unthinkingly pulling the man up and out of the chair before pushing him down the hallway.

Stiles realizes his mistake as he pulls his hands away from Derek's back and he turns quickly, praying for survival. He doesn't see Derek's wide-eyed look as he walks away.

Thankfully it seems like today is not the day to die so Derek leaves and Stiles breathes a sigh of relief, fingers reaching blindly for a package of unopened Twizzlers. He's a mouthy guy _in the best way_ so chewing things helps him concentrate. Twizzlers are his favorite- they're fun to pull apart and they seem to last forever when he's eating them. Time passes slowly and he munches on the straws, amusing himself by trying to guess the flavors as he pulls randomly from the pack.

Almost one hour later there's a knock at the door. Three short raps, businesslike and commonplace. Stiles rises quietly, frowning, and then he pauses. There's an uneasy feeling boiling in his gut and he slowly looks back to the computers, eyes finding the screen displaying the hallway feed.

There's no one there.

The silence is suddenly very loud and Stiles swallows slowly, aware of every breath he takes. His fingers find the tape recorder and EMF detector and he slowly walks to the door, every footstep feeling like a concrete brick is being dropped. The detector is silent and he holds the recorder close, swallowing hard as he presses close to the peephole.

The hallway looks empty. Stiles lets out a slow breath, biting his lip as he remembers what to do.

"Is someone there?"

He's met with silence but he stay quiet anyways, waiting, recorder blinking green.

"Who are you?"

Silence.

"What do you want?"

Stiles waits, breathes quietly, and stops the recorder after three more minutes. He returns to the chair, dropping into like he weighs five hundred pounds. The feed still shows an empty hallway.

"This is insane," Stiles mutters, laughing shakily as he rubs his face with twitching hands. He reflexively checks the clock and realizes he's run thirty minutes over his shift time. "How the fuck am I supposed to sleep now?"

Stiles ignores the clock, typing up a quick report and adding the information to their shared case file. He checks the camera feed's time markers and makes a note to check the recorder in the morning. Everything is taken care of and then he sees it's been forty-five minutes since his shift ended and Derek is _so_ going to kill him.

Malia is sound asleep but Stiles' gentle shake rouses her immediately. She blinks blearily but checks her watch, frowning at the time.

"Don't worry about it," Stiles murmurs, and then he waits for her to tie her hair up before escorting her to the foyer. She frowns a bit and he tries to look as calm as possible before he says a quick good night and retreats to the bedroom.

Stiles tries to sleep. He tries for what seems like ages and then- he's out.

 

* * *

 

 

Stiles wakes for some inexplicable reason. His breathing is fast and his eyes are impossibly wide for the small amount of sleep he's had. He can feel his heart pounding underneath his shirt and he looks down at his arms, sees them shaking.

"Ugh. Too early," Scott complains as he turns on his side, blanket hiked over his head.

Stiles licks his lips, feels the way his entire body is almost vibrating with some unknown fear. He's faintly sure that whatever is making him react is _not_ something he wants to remember. The clock on the wall is blinking in acid-green, mocking him, the numbers reading eight o'clock. He's up right on time.

There's a knock on the door and Stiles feels his throat constrict to what feels like the circumference of a needle. When it swings open and Derek enters he desperately tries to recover, but it's too late.

"Time to get up-," Derek starts, and then he sees Stiles' face. "What happened?"

Stiles feels his mouth move uselessly and he frantically tries to stop the shaking, lower his eyelids a little bit, _calm down_. Derek looks vaguely disturbed and Stiles wants to laugh, realizing the man probably isn't used to him being wordless.

"Stiles, breathe," Derek says firmly, but it isn't right, it isn't helping, and Stiles can _feel_ himself spiraling into a place he doesn't want to go.

"Stiles," Scott says suddenly, and Stiles doesn't know when he woke up but he looks like an island of sanity, eyes focused and clear. "In. Out."

It's a rhythm, an old beat that Stiles knows as well as his pulse. Scott repeats the words and Stiles focuses, hands slowly steadying as he works everything out in his mind. _In. Out._

Derek watches, fingers flitting, hesitant. Stiles tries to ignore the burn in his chest at the way Derek looks at him- like he's broken. _Defective. Useless._

"What happened?" Scott eventually asks, calm but worried. Stiles has control now, breathing evenly as his limbs steady.

"I don't know," Stiles says truthfully, and he looks at his hands as if they're foreign objects. "I woke up. Just- for no reason," he explains, tongue flitting across his lips nervously.

"Did you hear anything? Was it a dream?" Derek asks, and Stiles shakes his head, a twitch forming in his right shoulder.

"No. Nothing. It's nothing."

Neither Derek nor Scott look convinced but Stiles ignores them, turning his back and pretending to look for something in his backpack. Derek eventually leaves and Stiles exhales slowly, fingers pulling a new shirt over his head. _Something's going on._

Breakfast is an awkward ordeal. The residents don't speak much, Macy glaring at her plate while Aaron uneasily pushes fruit around a bowl. Arie sits on her own in a sofa, legs pulled up as she eats a breakfast bar. Jay is tense, mouth pulled into a taut line.

"So did you find anything?" Aaron finally asks, and from the weary looks the others give him, it's a question no one really wants answered.

Stiles glances at Derek, watching the tilt of his head as he considers how to answer.

"We're still documenting. There don't seem to be any issues with the building but we've taken note of small occurrences," Derek says plainly, and if you weren't paying attention he could've been talking about the weather.

"Something happened," Arie says quietly, and it's not a question.

Macy glares at her from across the table and Stiles stops chewing for a second, looking back at Arie. He blinks for a second, looks again, and swallows dryly. There are a thousand thoughts running through his head as he considers what he's seen. Derek says something to Arie and Scott pitches in but the words are muffled. Stiles looks down at his plate, vision blurring as he thinks.

"...Stiles," Derek is saying, and the room is suddenly empty. Lydia is frowning as she pushes in her chair.

Stiles jerks his head, rising quickly. Derek frowns but follows, letting Stiles lead the way back to base.

"I think Macy is part of the problem," Stiles says when they walk through the door.

"Why?" Derek asks, but the resigned set of his shoulders tells Stiles he isn't alone.

"When she was glaring daggers at Arie earlier I saw what looked like a breeze move some of Arie's hair. The closest window was almost three yards away on the opposite wall and we checked _everything_ for gaps. There's no way a gust of wind or air came out of nowhere. It wasn't someone walking by and the vent wasn't on."

"It would make sense. She doesn't seem to like us being around- the brick that fell on Stiles could be part of that," Malia notes, chewing the edge of her lip.

"What about the knock?" Lydia asks, crossing her arms.

"Usually the source is unaware of their power," Isaac muses, fingers tapping at a keyboard. "What if she...I don't know, was dreaming of coming up here? Telling us off?"

Derek's face says that he thinks it's a long shot. Stiles holds his breath, biting his tongue until he can't anymore.

"We should move the tenants out, if only for a night. We need to _know_ that she isn't part of the problem. If everything stops for a day or two, we know what to do- otherwise we're stuck sorting this out the long way."

Derek contemplates Stiles' words, fingers rubbing the bridge of his nose for a minute.

"All right. Move them out. Kira, take Scott with you. Malia, you and Stiles are on check. Make sure nothing's moved in the apartments."

The team splits up immediately and Stiles shoves a few things into a camcorder bag. They're in for a long day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait and the short chapter! I've had this one on draft mode for two days already- Spring Break really kept me busy. Please enjoy and review!


	5. Day 2/Night 2: Communication

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles and Derek have an unexpected chat and the team carries out their duties. When something tries to communicate, things take a sharp turn for the worse. Stiles is faced with a decision and the entire investigation suddenly goes from the routine to the chilling.

"It moved," Malia says, and her startled tone calls Stiles from across Arie's living room.

"What moved?" Stiles asks sharply, quickly leaving the kitchen.

"It's...a flyer, or something. A card with information about a film screening."

"What film?" Stiles asks, and he looks over Malia's shoulder at the paper lying on the floor.

"'Separate Ways'...a student film by Director Angel Lewis. Friday, February 13th at 7 pm, Library Lecture Hall," Malia recites, flipping the paper over to check for writing. Stiles scoffs in disbelief.

"I don't believe it."

"What?"

"Think about it. What if Aaron gave that to her?"

Malia looks confused for a moment. Stiles shakes his head, snapping pictures of the flyer, and continues.

"If Aaron gave it to her to be nice and Macy found out...,"

"Oh," Malia says, and her eyes are wide as she winces a bit, imagining the scene. "Well, at least it's not a brick."

"Small miracles," Stiles murmurs, continuing down the hallway.

Malia's right. There are no other displaced objects and the temperature readings seem normal. Stiles frowns, double-checking the little things- trash can, drapes, under the bed. It doesn't make sense for the phenomena to have stopped or lessened so suddenly. Something isn't right.

 

* * *

 

 

"Nothing seems to be touched other than that flyer," Lydia says, frustratedly running a hand through her ponytail.

It's almost noon and Stiles knows the whole team is frustrated and on edge. Lydia _never_ pulls her hair up, not unless she's having trouble figuring something out. And when Lydia's having trouble...

"Okay," Stiles suddenly says, and he rises from his seat. "Jay gave us free reign over the kitchen. I'm making lunch- in the meantime, everyone relax. We aren't going to get anywhere with all this negative energy floating around."

Isaac raises an eyebrow but Stiles points at him warningly, walking out before he can say anything. He needs time to think- time to process what he knows and what he doesn't, time to fly through his database, time to cross-reference.

The kitchen is blessedly silent and empty so Stiles rifles through the pantry, picking out some macaroni noodles and breadcrumbs. The refrigerator yields eggs, butter, sour cream, milk, and plenty of cheese. _Everyone likes mac and cheese, right? God, I hope so._ Cooking comes easily to Stiles. It didn't used to, but now he can multitask, setting his body to one chore and his mind to another. It's good for him, helps him expel energy and concentrate at the same time. By the time a pot of water is boiling he's begun to think out loud, an instinct from the days he'd be at home, waiting for his father.

"Increasing levels of activity stopped once we arrived. Only slight phenomena have been recorded." He puts bacon in a pan.

"The building is stable. There's no evidence of anything natural that could have caused these incidents." He adds macaroni to a pot.

"Mild but not malicious activity has occurred in the vicinity of a crew member." Stiles opens the cheeses and starts grating a block.

"An incident appears to be connected to a resident." A new pot with milk is set on the stove, medium heat.

"Total: both threatening and non-threatening behavior. Most significant occurrences revolve around a resident and an investigator."

Stiles frowns at the pile of cheese before him. For a moment he doesn't move but then he inhales sharply, throwing the cheese in to the saucepan with the milk.

"There is poltergeist activity linked to Macy and directed at Arie. There is a possibility that similar activity has been directed at investigators. With further monitoring this theory will be disproved or supported."

"Hopefully supported," Derek says, and Stiles nearly spills simmering milk all over himself.

" _Je_ sus, Derek," Stiles complains, huffing as he grabs a strainer for the pasta. "You want _me_ to do the haunting next?"

Derek looks absurdly guilty for a nanosecond and Stiles wants to laugh. It's endearing. _And now I stop. Stop thinking about him._

"What are you making?" Derek asks, and he looks at the various utensils as if they're haunted and may fly through the air and stab him.

"Mac and cheese," Stiles says, emptying the pasta into the strainer. "Don't worry, it won't eat you."

"Do you...need help?" Derek asks, and the words come out like teeth being pulled. Stiles makes a disturbed face at Derek.

"No, you don't have to. I mean, you look like Minnie Castevet just offered you some chocolate mousse."

".....Rosemary's Baby," Derek says, and he's looking at Stiles like he thinks he's both insane and beautiful. _No, just insane, he can't think-_

"Um-," Stiles manages, and he knows he's probably turning red. He avoids Derek's gaze, pouring macaroni and cheese into a pan.

"How did you manage to do three things at once?" Derek asks, and then _he's_ the one blushing, amending apologetically, "I mean-,"

"I'm a train wreck? Yeah," Stiles snorts, pulling the bacon off the stove. It's chopped haphazardly and thrown into the dish.

"It looks good," Derek says, and this time there's no pain in the way he speaks, no awkwardness, no stilted words.

"Thanks," Stiles says happily, hiding his mile-wide grin as he adds breadcrumbs and sticks the pan in the oven. "You can let them know it'll be fifteen minutes."

Derek nods, and then he looks like he wants to say something, mouth about to open, Stiles holding his breath-

"Smells good!" Scott says as he enters, bouncing happily.

Stiles doesn't want to kill him _._ They're bros. He just wants to temporarily incapacitate him.

The team arrives in a cloud of chatter and activity; Stiles practically has to yell at Isaac to set the table. After thirty minutes of food-porn-worthy moans, Stiles is completely assured of his Cooking God status.

"Stiles, live with me," Malia says blissfully, leaning back in her chair, and she's the most relaxed he's seen her in two days.

"Sorry, dibs," Isaac says, and it's when _he_ wants dibs that Stiles knows he's done well.

"I get best friend dibs," Scott says finally, scooping up the last plate before putting everything in the dishwasher.

"Isn't the boss usually the one that gets the secretary?" Lydia asks innocently, and Stiles hisses at her because he can't _do_ anything.

"I guess it's back to work," Malia sighs, oblivious to Lydia's comment.

The team splits up again, checking all of the cameras to make sure nothing needs replacing. It's tedious to say the least but there's no way around it. The rest of the day is bound to be the same- full of checking and rechecking dozens of times.

 

* * *

 

Once it gets dark Stiles is beyond tired. He made lunch _and_ dinner after hours of both sly and completely blunt references to his cooking. The team treats him well, though- he never has to clean up afterwards and they give him the last shift of the night. It's a blessing for Stiles to shower and lie on a multitude of blankets, limp and boneless after a long day. He stares at the ceiling for a couple of minutes, trying to sleep.

**_thump_**.

Stiles frowns, turning his head. The rest of the apartment seems silent but the muffled noise came from somewhere near the entrance. He lies there for a moment, waiting, but there's nothing.

"Maybe Malia fell asleep," Stiles mutters, and he rubs his face before deciding to go check. He swings his legs off the bed, silently making his way to the door.

_**thump**_.

He pauses, hand on the doorknob. There's an acid taste at the back of his throat and he swallows harshly, fingers gripping the handle and turning it silently. The hallway is dark and empty, a strange silence permeating the space.

"Malia?" Stiles calls softly, making his way to the foyer. _Something's wrong._ He doesn't know what it is, but something isn't right, something is distinctly out of place, off-key.

**_thump._ **

Something smells wrong. He can't place it but it's familiar, and suddenly the noise seems to be strangely... _wet_ around the edges.

"Hey, who's up?" Stiles asks, this time a little louder, heart pounding in his ears. _This is so not cool. Not cool at all._

_**thump <squish>.** _

The light from the computers is shining on two figures by the kitchen. Stiles can't see in the dark but he can see the outlines, one sitting on top of the other. The person on the floor has their arms hanging limply by their sides. 

"Guys, this is not the-," Stiles starts, but then he stops because somethings' wrong. _God, phrase of the year, 'something's wrong'._ Stiles inches forward and then he stops because he's stepped in water but it's not cold for some reason, it's actually kind of warm-

"...not water," Stiles manages, and he practically vomits his heart onto the floor because it's _blood_ and _that_ was the smell and he's reaching for the light, throwing it upwards with more force than necessary so the can _see_ -

It's him.

It's _him_ , it's Stiles, he's sitting on top of Derek, hands around his throat, gripping tightly around purple-blue marks. He's there and Derek is just _lying_ there, head a mess of blood and bone and hair because _Stiles is bashing his head into the floor._

Stiles doesn't register his own scream.

 

* * *

 

There's a loud slap and Stiles feels his head snap sideways, the world suddenly flashing into existence. It's like the screen in a horror game when you bump into a wall and a face pops up, sudden and stark. But it's not a horror game and it's Scott's face, worried and scared.

It takes a moment for Stiles to realize he's screaming and his throat hurts. _How long?_ He doesn't have time to wonder because the image is still there, fresh in his mind, and suddenly he's crying shamelessly all over Scott's shirt.

"Stiles," Malia says as she enters, and both she and Kira look disheveled and frightened. Stiles tries to back away from Scott, a hand muffling his sobs, but Scott pulls him closer.

"I don't know what happened, he was still asleep-," Scott says calmly, fingers soothing against Stiles' back. Isaac appears a minute later, trailing a worried Lydia.

"Stiles, what happened?" Lydia asks quietly, kneeling next to Scott on the bed.

"I don't-, no-," Stiles manages, shaking his head in an attempt to rid himself of the violent image. He can see Derek's head hitting the floor. For a sickening moment he feels the blood on his foot and he looks down, terrified, hands clawing at his own ankle.

"Stiles," Lydia says, commanding. "Breathe. Tell me what you saw."

"It was- it was me," Stiles says, still not believing. He's seen himself in the mirror, has seen pictures, but _this_ \- it's not right. It's so _wrong_ , it feels _ev_ _il_ , seeing his own body doing things he'd never want it to.

"Stiles?"

Stiles feels his heart drop through the floor, feels his stomach turn, and when he looks up he can see Derek's expression, the worry, some rare kind of anger directed at an unseen enemy. It's too much.

Stiles lunges off the bed, falls into the bathroom and lets everything out of his body. The two meals he worked so hard to make tumble out of him in a mess and he sobs in the white room, fingers blindingly flushing before he leans heavily on the sink, rinsing his mouth. His hands are shaking.

When he walks out the team is waiting, on edge. His hand hovers over his mouth, fingers shaking as he talks in an uneven voice.

"I saw myself. I was killing him," he explains, hating the words as they come. His voice breaks as he finishes. "I was killing Derek."

 

* * *

 

 

"This is real," Scott whispers harshly, and Stiles is staring at his feet as he sits on the bed, bundled in a thick blanket.

The team is outside the bedroom, speaking in hushed tones. They're not sure what to make of Stiles' nightmare but the general consensus is that it's _bad_.

"I've never seen him like that," Lydia whispers, and Stiles can hear her shell-shocked voice. It takes a lot to make Lydia uneasy.

"I think we need to assume whatever this is, it's not just a poltergeist. Maybe there's something already here that fed off of Macy's anger," Kira suggests, and Stiles nods jerkily in the empty bedroom. She's right.

"I'm not sure he should stay," Derek says finally, and Stiles squeezes his eyes shut, pretending the sting in his eyes is from lack of sleep and not tears.

"What do you mean, he's not-," Malia starts, and Derek interrupts.

"I mean that he's obviously susceptible to whatever this thing is. Is it really a good idea to keep him around? What if this _thing_ decides to possess him?"

"You think it's that strong?" Isaac asks, and he sounds vaguely perturbed.

"I don't want to take the chance."

"We _need_ him. We need _everyone_ if we're going to stand a chance," Scott argues, and Stiles is suddenly infinitely more tired.

_This can't go on._ He rises carefully, red eyes adjusting to the sudden influx of light as he opens the door.

"I'm staying," he says, throat sore and used. "Scott's right, we might barely be able to handle this. The sooner we finish, the better it'll be for all of us."

Derek seems to be scrutinizing Stiles but Scott nods firmly, a comforting hand characteristically encircling his friend's arm.

"Stiles is staying."

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yet another chapter dawdles on my laptop. It seem that not many people may be interested, so I'm considering putting a hold on further chapters for a bit. Maybe I got off on the wrong foot? Who knows. Anyways, please enjoy and remember to review!


	6. Day 3/Night 3/Day 4: Exchange

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lydia and Kira are tasked with performing cleansing rituals as the others keep an eye on things. Stiles has a theory about the possibility of a poltergeist and discusses it with Derek- after a day of relative inactivity, it seems that the team is finally at the home stretch. Aren't they?

Stiles couldn't sleep for the rest of the night. He stayed up, watching the dim light of the cameras. Someone was always there, hovering on the edges of his vision. It seemed as if the team didn't want to leave him alone.

_Ring._

The phone almost makes him jump out of his chair but he sighs, rubbing a tired hand over his face.

"Hello?"

_"Hi. Um-is this-?"_

"This is Stiles. How may I help you?"

_"Oh. It's Arie. From, um-,"_

"The investigation. Right. Something happen?"

_"No. No, it's- nothing happened. I'm...I feel great. It's so weird. I just...nothing has happened since I left."_

"Really? Okay, um- can you tell me where you're staying and what exactly has changed?"

After five minutes of conversation, Stiles hangs up and looks at the blinking cursor on his laptop.

"Who was it?" Derek asks softly, stepping into the doorway.

Stiles glances up and has to look away, eyes stinging with the threat of tears. He can't stop smelling the blood.

"Arie. She says she feels better- when she was here, she says she felt like she was covered in some sort of film or slime."

"Where is she staying?"

"At a friend's dorm on campus. Macy and Aaron are staying in a hotel across town from her," Stiles adds, anticipating the next question.

"So they're all far from here and each other," Derek murmurs, and Stiles nods, tapping his fingers against the space bar.

"Derek. I think we should let Lydia and Kira go through today," Malia says, entering the room on quiet feet.

_Everyone's being quiet today. They're all tiptoeing around me. Literally,_ Stiles thinks, half-amused.

"That's probably the only thing we can do," Derek admits, sighing as he runs a hand through his hair.

Stiles isn't totally versed in Kira and Lydia's specialties but he knows the gist of their abilities. Lydia has a basic knowledge of what the pack jokes is 'witch powers' and Kira has picked up a few traditional Japanese ceremonies from her parents. Both girls can perform basic purification rituals and they each know little things about how to communicate with or dissuade 'spirits'.

On any other occasion, the chance to see the girls in action would be fantastic for Stiles. Now, it's ominous.

 

* * *

 

Derek set the ritual hours for after lunch. The pack are hesitant to let Stiles make food, but he quietly assures Scott that's its a form of meditation and they let him go in peace. He really isn't up to a lot of work so he grabs a package of ground beef before raiding the seasonings and picking out ingredients for tacos. Every few minutes a team member will pass through the hallway and Stiles pretends not to see them looking in.

As the minutes pass Stiles starts to feel an uneasy buzz settling in the back of his mind. He shakes it off as a headache, maybe dehydration since he lost everything after waking up in the night. He grabs some water from the fridge and finishes lunch, ignoring the ache forming in his lower back. The pack appear quickly, hungry and chatting sedately. Stiles is thankful for the conversation, letting himself drift as he listens to everyone talk.

"Lydia, take Malia with you. Scott and Kira, stick together. I'll be keeping track at base with Isaac and Stiles," Derek says as they finish.

"I'll take the ground floor; we can work our way towards the middle," Lydia offers, and Kira nods in agreement

"Should we be doubling up?" Scott asks worriedly, tapping his fingers on a water bottle.

"I think we should go through once for now," Derek says, chin in hand. "It'll only waste time to double up on floors where nothing has happened. If the activity continues after today, we'll know where we need to rework it."

The team splits up quickly, Lydia and Kira making their way to separate floors with everything they need for the purification.

Stiles sits by the computers, chewing his lip worriedly as the girls start to work.

"They've done this dozens of times," Isaac says, watching a live feed as he types. Stiles laughs halfheartedly.

"Thanks for cheering me up."

The first floors don't seem to be any trouble. Stiles is just relaxing his clenched hands when he sees Lydia make her way into the Hammond's apartment. It looks like Lydia is burning something- incense, maybe? Herbs? Whatever the case, Stiles sees a shadow on the feed.

"Hey....Isaac...?" Stiles begins slowly, leaning in to try and decipher just what it is. The shadowy blur seems to be hovering around the living room; it doesn't move even as Lydia continues with her work.

"Okay, that's weird," Isaac says, and he's suddenly serious, flipping through several open windows on the other laptop.

"Malia," Stiles says, clicking a walkie-talkie on.

_"Yeah?"_

"We're picking up some weird visuals here. Do you see anything in the living room?"

_"...no. What are you looking for?"_

"I don't know. Is there something that could be making a shadow in the center of the room?" Stiles watches Malia walk around slowly.

_"Don't think so. And- please tell me I'm not standing in front of some demon right now."_

"No, Malia...you're okay," Stiles says, huffing out a laugh. Malia nods, saluting the camera before catching up with Lydia.

"Temp rise," Isaac says triumphantly, turning his computer towards Stiles.

"What happened?" Derek asks, entering the room with a few battery packs.

"Something strange on visual, looks like a blur or a cloud. Also and associated temp rise. The girls can't see it."

"Is it still there?" Derek asks, abandoning the batteries as he leans closer.

"No...I think it disappeared after the girls left a second ago," Stiles says, tapping the keyboard to open up a new window. He replays the video file, watching as Malia talks to him and Lydia continues on her way.

"Temp rise," Derek says shortly, and Stiles leans back in his chair.

"That's textbook poltergeist. What about Arie's fireplace? It was hot when I touched it."

"You think the poltergeist activity is linked to the Hammonds' apartment, or all of them?" Derek asks, raising an eyebrow.

"I think it's Macy. Maybe the apartments are just like conductors. Arie says she feels better."

"It could explain why Stiles was attacked. If Macy didn't like us being here, the energy could have moved anywhere in the building," Isaac reasons, recording the incident as he talks.

"So if it's attached to Macy, why did this show up when she wasn't here?" Derek asks, looking expectantly at Stiles.

"Energy rubs off on things," Stiles begins, ignoring his pounding heart. "That's why there are so many stories about possessed dolls and music boxes and stuff. Objects are vessels; if there's enough energy around, or being directed at them, they retain the energy. It's like radiation."

"So Macy's energy was absorbed into the apartment?"

"No. No, I think what we saw was just residue."

"So _is_ there any energy here?" Isaac asks, looking both faintly amused and extremely confused.

"Yes. I think it's in Arie's apartment."

 

* * *

 

 

It took hours for Stiles to fall asleep. Part of him still sees Derek's head smashing against the floor. The other part is remembering the way Derek- _real_ Derek- looked at him when he asked Stiles to explain poltergeist energy. _He expected me to know the answer. He looked at me as if he would've believed anything I had to say._

When Stiles eventually fell asleep, it was with a smile on his lips.

The next morning feels better. It's almost like a fog has lifted from the building. Even Isaac seems peppier as they eat breakfast.

"Lydia and Kira are going to go back over the two affected apartments today," Derek explains as Stiles dishes out pancakes.

"THESE TASTE LIKE IHOP!" Scott shouts through a mouthful of pancake. It comes out more like 'theeth tathe luk ihaw'. Stiles laughs.

"Nice to hear people laughing again, isn't it, Derek?" Lydia asks, and it's such a strange question that Stiles turns, only to see the older man studiously watching his pancakes as if they're going to start floating away. He doesn't know he's just missed Derek staring at him.

"So I guess we're going to wrap up, then?" Stiles asks, trying hard to sound nonchalant.

"Probably," Derek says, cutting a perfect triangle from his stack. Stiles tries hard to disguise his snort of laughter as a cough.

"Well, if we have the weekend," Stiles starts innocently, shrugging as if it's of no consequence, "Maybe we can all go to the the Rim?"

Lydia very obviously attempts to contain her excitement at the thought of going to the shopping center in the city.

"That might be wise- after all, Derek, I'm sure your jeans need replacing," Lydia adds sweetly. Derek chokes on his orange juice.

Stiles sends Lydia a look. _What the hell is going on with you two?_ She ignores him in favor of primly cutting a piece of bacon.

Breakfast continues in a rowdy fashion but Lydia doesn't comment anymore and Stiles takes to shooting her betrayed looks over his glass of apple juice.

"All right. Let's wrap it up," Derek says after the dishes are loaded, and Stiles sighs, stretching happily as he makes his way back to base.

"Well, it seems like this was just a really bad poltergeist case," Isaac notes as he finishes double-checking the video feeds from the previous night.

"Yup. One for the books," Stiles says, resting his chin on his hand as he watches the girls.

"Stiles," Derek says, and he sounds hesitant.

"What's up?"

"The batteries in the laundry and hallway cameras are about to lose charge; I think they're dying out. We shouldn't be splitting up, but-,"

"It's the last day and nothing has happened? I get it. No worries," Stiles replies, picking up a battery pack. He wiggles his eyebrows jokingly. "I'll do the laundry."

Derek snorts but Stiles can see the edges of a smile as he leaves the room.

 

* * *

 

 

"Eurgh. This place is tiny. And creepy," Stiles mutters, glancing around the laundry room.

It's hilariously small, roughly the size of a dorm bedroom, three washing machines and three dryers packed against opposite walls. The only door has a small window and there's a tall bookcase with a few towels and items across from it. Stiles huffs, making his way towards the tripod set up in the far corner.

_splash_

"Ew," Stiles murmurs, looking down at the puddle on the floor. _Is something leaking?_ "Isaac will die if his camera gets wet."

He's about to open the camera when there's a soft crunching noise followed by the sound of a sudden gush of water.

_What the fuck._

Stiles turns quickly, watching in mild horror as the puddle on the floor grows rapidly. He quickly splashes his way towards the washing machines, crouching at the end of the row. The space between the wall and the machines reveals an accordion-looking tube that's fallen away from the wall. There's an exposed metal valve and he can see the apparent waterfall cascading into the room.

"Well, _this_ is expensive," Stiles mutters, shaking his head.

_And it's flooding really fast in here,_ he realizes, glancing down at the water that's begun to reach his ankles. _Why is there so much water?_

A resounding _crack_ answers his question.

"Oh god," Stiles says suddenly, blinking as he watches the machines tremble from the force of the water hitting their backs. He's no plumber but all evidence suggests some sort of burst pipe. _This room is going to flood really fast._

Stiles' first thought is that he should probably get someone to help. He makes his way through the quickly rising water, now an inch above his ankles, and reaches for the door handle.

The door doesn't open.

He jiggles the doorknob, pushes it with his shoulder and tries to look outside. It's not moving.

"Fuck all of this." He's just about to turn to the camera when something rattles. _What now. What_ **_fucking_** now.

When he does turn around, he wishes he hadn't.

The machines are moving. Not in a 'pummeled by water' way, but in a 'somebody is totally about to throw me' way.

"What the hell," Stiles breathes, and then he looks to the camera. "Hey!"

He spends about five minutes trying to wave at the camera before he realizes it's dead. The battery is dead. The battery is dead and he is stuck in a rapidly flooding room.

**_...Stiles._ **

"No," Stiles says weakly, leaning against the door. He turns and feels the glass, tries to discern whether or not he could break it.

**_Stiles._ **

"Fuck you, fuck you," Stiles says frantically, pounding his fists against the glass. The logical part of his mind reminds him that the water is almost to his knees and he should just  _turn around and go to the camera_. 

When he finally gives in, he slips and falls face first into the water.

The water is cold and he pops up quickly, coughing and choking as he spits the water out. He's not sure why or how he slipped but he regains his footing quickly, looking around with his heart beating like a hammer.

_The battery_ , Stiles realizes, and he jerks it out of his pocket so quickly it almost flies out of his hand. It seems relatively intact but there are droplets of water on it. He prays fervently that it still works. It takes only a few seconds to get to the camera and Stiles grabs the other battery, jamming it into his pocket before slamming the new one into place.

**_STIles._ **

He doesn't know if he's imagining the voice or if it's real; his only thought is that it's getting stronger. Almost like it's getting closer.

"Come _on_ , Isaac, _come on_!" Stiles yells into the camera, looking at the lens as if it's a two-way mirror. He thinks the camera is working now and he watches the green light blink with a sense of relief. It's on.

The second light blinks yellow. Stiles lets out a creative string of Shakespearean curses. The camera is trying to connect back to the computer, so the feed will probably be delayed when Isaac sees it.

"Like hell I'm dying in some shitty laundry room," Stiles growls, and he starts searching the room for something, anything that could help him break the glass. The water is creeping past his knees and he feels gross weight of his socks inside of his shoes.

"Stiles?" Derek's muffled voice echoes from the other side of the door and Stiles can't help but beam in relief, laughing as he turns away from the bookcase on the opposite wall.

"Derek," Stiles says, and for a second he just stays there, watching Derek's worried expression as he tries the door handle.

Stiles is about to start making his way towards the door when Derek looks up. In a split second Derek's face transforms, a look of utter horror appearing almost instantaneously.

_"S_ _TILES!"_ Derek roars, and Stiles doesn't even get to turn all the way before the bookcase falls on him.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, my goal was 2 chapters but life happened. Anyways, I hope you all enjoy- I had sooo much fun writing this one. This was the scene I had in mind after I started this story. I've been having a good time leading up to it and I hope it sets you on edge when you read it. Remember to read and review!


	7. Day 4/Night 4/Day 5: Descent

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Even if she be not harmed, her heart may fail her in so much and so many horrors; and hereafter she may suffer--both in waking, from her nerves, and in sleep, from her dreams.”  
> ― Bram Stoker, Dracula

Stiles groans quietly, mouth shut with sleep. He's sleeping in an uncomfortable position and he shifts, rolling over without an ounce of grace. His slow mind takes too long to wonder why he's uncomfortable and then he realizes, somehow, that he's on the floor. _Why am I..._ , Stiles begins to think, and then his body jolts in a myoclonic twitch and he's awake.

"Urgh," Stiles manages, the taste of sleep heavy and bitter in his mouth. The muddy grey of a concrete slab swims into focus, the expanse stretching beyond his squashed cheek. He lifts his head slowly, blinking rapidly in an attempt to sharpen his vision.

There's a forest- a stretch of trees lies beyond the concrete slab Stiles is lying on. He levers himself up, confused. When he turns, he sees a building. _Apartments._ He looks up at the building for a moment before reality slaps him in the face.

"What," Stiles manages shakily, rising to his feet in an odd, drunken move. He sways as he turns to the apartment complex, hand missing the doorknob once before he yanks it open. It's the back door; he knows it should be closed, that it leads into a storage room, but he doesn't care. All he can think of is the room flooding and Derek's face.

_Was it real?_

Stiles swallows the rock in his throat, hesitating as he steps into the darkness of the storage room. He doesn't know if he can trust his own mind. Did he really get locked in the flooding laundry room? Did he ever go in the first place? He doesn't know what's real and what's a hallucination, what's a dream.

There's a thump from upstairs and Stiles starts, nervous. He doesn't think anymore, only knows that he has to get to the others, has to make sure they're safe. He runs through the storage room, emerging at the far end of the kitchen. He rushes past the laundry room and up the stairs, afraid to take the elevator. The steps disappear under his feet as he takes them two at a time, practically flying towards the control room.

The apartments are silent. Stiles isn't sure what's going on but he knows something is wrong. His heart hammers painfully in his throat as he yanks the door to the apartment open.

Isaac is sitting at the computer table, pen tapping against the desk as he watches the camera feeds. He doesn't look up.

Stiles lets out a huge sigh of relief, sagging against the door.

"Isaac," Stiles begins, feeling a small tug at the corners of his lips.

Isaac doesn't answer. Stiles frowns.

"Hey. Look, I just woke up- I don't know what's going on, it's kind of weird- where are the others?"

Isaac is silent. Stiles feels his heart begin to hammer again.

"Isaac," Stiles says carefully, and he walks over to the boy, hand tentatively reaching out. "Hey. Cut it out."

When Stiles reaches for Isaac's arm, his hand passes through him.

"Fuck. Oh, _fuck_. What the _fuck_. Am I- what is this, _Harry Potter_?" Stiles says in disbelief, edging on hysterical as he tries to grasp the situation. He doesn't _think_ he's dead. Or in someone's diary.

The camera feed flickers and Stiles sees Lydia moving around a room with Malia. There's a dark shadow in the corner of Arie's apartment and the girls can't see it.

Stiles grasps a fistful of his hair, frustrated and panicked, and then he decides that the only way to try and help them is to go upstairs. He bolts out the door, huffing from the exertion, and then a minute later he's yanking the door open.

There's blood everywhere, and he can see himself standing in the middle of it.

Stiles feels his breath catch in his throat as he sees _himself_ look up, eyes oddly luminous, and then other-Stiles' mouth twitches, the corner rises, and he lifts a finger to his mouth.

Stiles doesn't stick around. He can feel his stomach heaving but he ignores it, racing to the Hammonds' apartment. _Scott. Kira._

He's there too, only this time Stiles can clearly see the tattered clothes and stray locks of hair.

When he starts to run again, his stomach convulses and he vomits in the hallway, crying and coughing as he makes his way back to base. _Derek. Where's Derek?_

Isaac has been reduced to blood and chewed meat, the laptops shredded like tinfoil. Stiles lurches around.

And comes face-to-face with Derek.

"Derek," Stiles begins weakly, and then he gasps as something cold passes through him.

It's the other-Stiles, and he screams, hands reaching. The other-Stiles looks back, a cruel smile twisting its mouth, and then it turns to Derek.

**"What happened?"** Derek asks, and Stiles can't hear him well; it sounds like Stiles is underwater and the words are muffled.

**"Oh god, Derek, it-,"** Other-Stiles says, and it sobs, a hand rising to its mouth. Derek looks concerned and pale.

**"Stiles, are you okay? What happened?"**

Other-Stiles shakes its head and Derek pulls it close, a hand rising to its hair. Stiles screams and tries to beat at them, tries to pull Derek away. _You're not safe, you're not safe!_ Other-Stiles smiles over Derek's shoulder and Stiles can feel the cold pit of dread settle into his stomach.

"No," Stiles whispers weakly, and he shakes his head, fingers reaching.

**"Derek...,"** Other-Stiles whispers, and its fake tears roll down its face as it strokes Derek's face with its hands. Derek touches the thing's cheek, fingers gently brushing tears away. Stiles can feel part of his heart burning.

Stiles screams when they kiss. He wants to tear them apart, wants to kill the thing that's wearing his body, wants to bring all of his friends back.

Other-Stiles moves back a fraction and before it's out of reach Stiles sees its had, dripping red, emerging from the other side of Derek's stomach.

_"NO!"_

 

* * *

 

 

Stiles doesn't wake screaming. His eyes are wide and terrified as he looks at the ceiling above him, blinking away the harsh light.

"Stiles," Lydia says, relieved. Her hair hangs over his side in a soft red curtain.

"Lydia, Lydia-," Stiles begins, hands scrabbling against the sheets as he tries to rise. He realizes belatedly that he's in the bed at base.

"Shh, you were hit pretty hard," Lydia says calmly, but her eyes betray immense worry. She gently pushes him down, a hand readjusting the cool towel on his forehead.

"What happened?" Stiles croaks, fingers clenching and releasing the sheets nervously. Something lingers at the edge of his mind.

"The bookcase fell," Lydia says softly, combing his hair with her fingers. "Derek got it off you."

"So it happened," Stiles starts, glancing at her with feverish eyes. "The room?"

"Yeah, it was flooding," Lydia says, but he can hear the confusion and worry in her voice.

The nagging feeling increases and he closes his eyes for a moment, concentrating through the throbbing pain of his head and back. He desperately tries and then the dream - vision- whatever it is- comes rushing back to him in an instant.

"Lydia, you _have_ to get the others, they're in danger," Stiles says, and he know he sounds frenzied. Lydia's eyes widen and her brow furrows, hands trying to keep him calm as they hold him down.

"What are you talking about? Did you-,"

" _Get them_. Lydia, _please_. _P_ _lease_ ," Stiles repeats, and he can feel tears spring into his eyes. There's pain and fear and Lydia nods decisively, rising quickly.

"Here," Lydia says, quickly pulling a handful of things from somewhere out of sight. "Cross, Holy Water, incense. If you need to use the incense, strike it against a hard surface. It's for scent only," she explains, pressing the items into his hand.

"Go," Stiles says, levering himself up. Lydia pauses, conflicted, and Stiles leans forward, forceful. " _Go_."

Stiles lays in bed, hand gripping the mattress, and he blinks tears away. He has no idea what's going on but he knows it's bad. Whatever the other-Stiles _is_ , he can't help but feel a pit of dread at the thought that it could be roaming around the apartments.

"I need to get up," Stiles whispers fiercely to himself, and he slowly rises, head swimming. His breathing is heavier than usual but he inhales deeply, blinking spots out of his eyes as he slowly makes his way to the door.

There's a rumble.

"No. _Nonononono_ ," Stiles begins, and he wants to shake his head but he's already vaguely dizzy.

The rumbling increases. It's like an earthquake and the ground and the walls seem to suddenly be _vibrating_. Stiles desperately flings his hands out, reaching for something, _anything_ , to hold onto. The room quakes. He can feel the ground giving way beneath his feet.

" _NO!_ "

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey all! I'm so sorry for taking so long. I JUST finished my second semester at college and I'll have more time to write over the summer. I'd love to continue this 'verse if enough people enjoy it, so please remember to leave a comment! To everyone who's left feedback and continues to follow, THANK YOU!


	8. Day 5/Night 5: Base

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things come to a head when Stiles rises from his latest fall. He's clear on what the entity wants and he's not about to let it succeed. There's a lingering question, though- is the entity about to do something, or has it already done so?

Stiles coughs and the little splatters of blood paint the eggshell-white carpet before him.

The door slams open and Derek is there, face contorted in a mask of panic. It scares Stiles, because he's never seen Derek look so thrown. So emotional.

So terrified.

"Derek," Stiles gasps, and the blood on his bottom lip is warm and coppery. He isn't sure what just happened, only knows that the floor slipped beneath him and he hit his head, hard, against the doorway. He lifts his heavy arms, a dull pounding beating at the back of his head where he's sure there's probably a spot of bruising and blood. If they get out of this damned place, Stiles will probably have to visit a doctor. Even _he_ isn't about to brush off two consecutive rounds of head trauma.

"Where's Lydia?" Derek demands, and Stiles winces as the man helps him stand. Derek's hands are gentle, warm, rough on the palms. They send a pleasant buzz up Stiles' arm and, despite the situation, he finds himself wishing Derek would never let go.

"I sent her to get the others. They're in trouble," Stiles explains, wiping his mouth with a shaky hand. The blood is bright crimson against his pale skin.

"Why? Stiles, what's going on?" Derek demands, and he sounds scared and furious. For a moment Stiles thinks that Derek is mad at him, is angry because everything seems to be happening to Stiles.

"It's not a poltergeist," Stiles manages, making his way towards the computers by the front door. Derek follows, hand still bracing Stiles' arm. "I mean- it might have been, at first. Not now."

"What do you mean?" Derek asks, voice hard. He's pulled taught like a rubber band and Stiles wonders what will make him snap.

"I mean that whatever was left after the first cleansing is _not_ human. It's not a poltergeist, not some residual human energy. It's something malicious," Stiles spits, frantically checking the camera feeds. He curses when he sees the static on the screen.

"How do we stop it?" Derek asks, and his voice is all deadly intent. Stiles inhales deeply, sweaty hands sliding against the table as he leans heavily on it. "Stiles."

Stiles straightens, walking into the kitchen, throwing open cupboards and drawers. "We exorcise it."

Derek is silent for a moment.

"You're not a priest," Derek says shortly, and he sounds for a moment as if he's about to drag Stiles back to bed.

"There's more than one way to skin a cat," Stiles says darkly. "And you're lucky we don't need one of those."

 

* * *

 

 

 

The rest of the group appear in the downstairs kitchen when Stiles is beginning to spread spices on a cheesecloth.

"Stiles!" Scott moves quickly, face lined with worry. "Shouldn't you-,"

"Wait," Stiles says firmly and Scott stops, mouth frozen in a tight line.

Derek's fingers are near white from clutching the counter and the rest of the pack are standing around in various degrees of panic and worry. Stiles slides around the other side of the island so that he can face them all.

"You are not, under _any_ circumstances, to leave me alone," Stiles says, hating every word that falls from his lips.

"What- why-," Scott begins, but Stiles barrels on.

"There is something _malicious_ in this house and I think that it's been trying to possess me. For all I know, it already _has_."

"You saw something," Lydia says, and it's not a question. She looks determined but Stiles can see her fingers curling in and out.

"The dreams, the laundry room- when I passed out last time, I saw something that looked like me. Something that killed all of you," Stiles says, ignoring the way his voice breaks.

"How do we stop it?" Isaac asks.

"We don't know if this thing is demonic or not. I'm assuming that it most likely is, given the fact that its end goal appears to be possession," Stiles explains, hands working cloves into the mixture he's created.

"So no bones to burn," Malia murmurs, arms crossed over her chest.

"Right. All we've got now are purification rituals," Stiles says nervously, tying the cloth together at the edges with twine.

"You mean exorcism?" Kira asks, confused. "But-,"

"You aren't priests, I know," Stiles says, looking at Kira and Lydia in turn. "That's not what I'm talking about."

Lydia is the first to get it. He knew she would, and he looks at her wide green eyes and long, red hair. He remembers when he used to be in love with her. He still loves her, loves the way she's smart and unafraid. They're something like best friends, boding over runes and old texts about the paranormal. He knew she'd know what he was thinking.

"Stiles, no," Lydia says, and his heart breaks at the fear infecting her usually cool voice. It scares the others, he can tell, when she sounds this scared.

"It's fine," Stiles replies calmly, but Derek is already stepping before him.

"What is it?" Derek asks, and his tone brooks no argument. Stiles swallows, looking anywhere but Derek's face.

"There are old rituals. Older than Lydia's magic," Stiles begins, and he can taste something sour in his mouth. "We could barely translate them _with_ Deaton's help."

"Deaton?" Derek asks, and the note of fear rings clear in the room.

Stiles hadn't wanted to say anything. Deaton was the occultist that worked with Derek's family. The man had been there to help save the Hales from the darkest demon they'd faced. Even then most of them had not come out of the house the same. The fire they'd started had burned the place to the ground. Stiles knew that Derek sometimes went back to the burned foundation, when it was cold outside and the leaves were falling from the trees.

"We wanted to ask for more texts for Lydia. He gave us something else- something old. We were never going to use it- it was like a side project. For fun," Stiles says, and _god,_ the irony of that word hits him square in the chest.

"We can't use it," Lydia says, trying to be firm even as her voice shakes. "Stiles, those rituals are _old._ We don't know if they work and if they _do_ \- we don't know what they'll take."

"I do," Stiles says softly, and he smiles. Lydia shakes her head softly, once, and he sees the realization light her eyes.

Lacrosse was never the best for Stiles. He did it because he loved it, because he wanted to feel like he was part of something. Even though Scott outshone him, even though he was never really _in_ any of the games, he relished the feeling. He trained the same as everyone else, went to the practices. No one could say he didn't try as hard- if not harder. The only thing Stiles excelled at, the only thing he could _really_ get into, was running. If he found himself with the ball, he would run like hell. And he could _run_. Stiles was always skinny, never more than athletically lithe, and while it wasn't the best body type for contact sports he could outpace anyone if he put his mind to it.

So when Stiles sprints past Derek and into the laundry room, it is a whole three seconds before they _realize_ what he's done and start to chase him.

By the time Scott hits the door, shoulder ramming right below the glass window, Stiles has already locked it from the inside, barely out of breath. There are general cries of 'open the door' and 'Stiles, you idiot,' but he ignores them until they settle down a bit.

"I need you to promise me something," Stiles says, raising his shaking voice so that it will travel past glass and wood. Derek pushes to the front, suddenly there, eyes blazing as his jaw clenches. "Don't let it get out."

"Okay," Derek says, and he nods but it looks curiously like his eyes are watery, red-rimmed. Stiles chalks it up to his overactive imagination.

Stiles nods, unlocking the door quietly, sure that they either won't notice or won't open it. The sack in his hands feels heavy.

Stiles kneels, fist loosening a fraction to let the salt pour onto the floor. The circle encloses him and he feels something that isn't his injury beginning to hurt in his head. When the circle is closed he sets a wooden bowl on the ground, fingers tracing the runes carved into it. He puts the cloth in the bowl, the scent of spices heady as he reaches for the matches in his back pocket.

"Be careful," Lydia says from the door and Stiles glances up, smiling weakly. He can see the pack, their faces filling the window like a family portrait.

He thinks that he couldn't ask  for a better image to die with.

The bowl's contents go up in flames and he inhales deeply, ancient words falling from his tongue. It's a strange language, the _r_ rolling up from the back of his tongue, _a_ pulled out of the air. It feels _right_ , though, and he remembers when he'd first spoken it. Deaton had warned him never to say a whole spell unless he meant it, had told Stiles in leaden tones that the language was more than just a language. It was _life_ , magic made sound. Stiles understands why as he repeats the spell, the spices flowing into his lungs as they burn in the bowl.

There's a jerk somewhere at the base of his spine. He feels a rising panic that isn't his own, an anger burning like the heat of the sun.

And suddenly, he isn't himself.

He's watching himself, a reflection in the glass window. The move is instantaneous, a blink, and nausea rises to his throat. _No. NO._ He sees himself, sees the dark circles under his eyes, watches as he staggers away from the bowl, screaming in anger, mouth twisted and faintly grey. He is a reflection crying out as he watches his body move, the other-Stiles breathing heavily as it makes its way to the door. Its fists rain against the door and it screams, nails scraping against wood.

_"YOU CAN'T KILL ME!"_

His body collapses.

Stiles can faintly hear the pack crying his name on the other side of the door. He coughs, ruined throat grating as blood and bandages spew from his lips. The tattered cloth spools onto the floor and he feels his body twist, back arching in pain. He can hear Derek's voice.

The door opens in a second and Stiles wants to scream, _NO, don't let it out,_ but it shuts again and locks with a heavy sound. Derek is there, a strong body supporting Stiles as he convulses.

"Stiles, you can _do_ this, come on," Derek is yelling over the screams. Stiles feels tears run down his face, hot and heavy.

The end of the bandage strip falls, spotted with blood and ragged. Stiles heaves in air, scrambling away from the pile. Derek's arms are firm on his shoulders. The bandages swirl with black smoke and Stiles coughs, the acrid scent burning his nose. His eyes water and he lunges for the bowl, mouth moving rapidly as he chants again, morbidly relieved as the blood on his lips falls into the mixture. _At least I don't have to cut myself._ The roaring coming from the bandages increases in volume but Stiles ignores it, mouth working at high speed as he chants the final word, throwing the flaming contents of his bowl onto the cloth.

There is an earth-shattering, ghostly shriek, and then-

Silence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hahaha I am TRASH for not finishing this sooner. I'm so sorry it's taken forever; I've been working most of this summer and I only recently got a new laptop/time to work on this. I regret that. Anyways: thanks to my sister, who reminded me 'skin a cat' is one of the ways the saying goes. Thanks to you all, for reading and reviewing. I'm not sure if you realize how much reviews can motivate a person. I sometimes go to my stories and read old reviews just to give myself a bit of hope for the chapters I write.  
> So please, enjoy. And don't forget to review and share the love. Share the story. Thank you!


	9. Terminus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What is the end but a new beginning?

**_I'll always be with you, Stiles._ **

_It's Japanese,_ Stiles thinks to himself, and he's not sure why he's excited over the idea. Maybe it's because he finally has something real, something concrete to connect it to. This...evil spirit, or whatever it is.

**_You're going to die here, Stiles._ **

_"No,"_ Stiles manages, and he is suddenly aware that he's lying on the laundry floor. It's dark and the moonlight filtering through the open door shines blue on the concrete.

**_Yes, Stiles. You will. And they will die with you..._ **

Stiles watches the cloth move, is frozen in place as a bandaged hand emerges. He is transfixed, horrified, unable to do anything as a figure pulls itself up from the coiled cloth. The being's jerky movements remind Stiles of the _Thriller_ music video and he is _so_ not amused at the horrible irony. Stiles can _feel_ himself start to hyperventilate and the ringing in his ears intensifies as he scrabbles backwards, fingernails scraping concrete.

 _ **Give me your** **body,**_ the creature whispers and its hoarse voice grates up Stiles' spine.

 _"No. Leave me alone,"_ Stiles manages, and he can hear the fear saturating his voice. He doesn't want to be afraid but _damn it_ he is, he's _afraid_ of what the creature is willing to do. He's afraid for his friends.

**_So weak._ _Prey._**

The word rings in Stiles' head. He imagines he's back at school, in the hallways, a kid whose mom just died. A spaz with issues whose panic attacks would send him running to the bathroom during lunch because they served chocolate chip cookies and all he could see was his mother's face. Her hands, so gentle, ragged in the end. Screams, fear, anger. The way she'd talk about him.

_HE WANTS TO KILL ME! HE'S TRYING TO KILL ME!_

_"I am not your prey,"_ Stiles says, lifting himself off the floor. The creature cocks its head, right shoulder bent as its fingers twitch erratically. It looks like his nightmares.

 ** _Stiles,_** the creature says, and its chilling laughter fills the room **_You are not in control. You have no_ power.**

 _"This is my mind. I have power,_ _"_ Stiles whispers, and he imagines that he's strong.

He imagines Derek, the way his rough hands lift the boxes from the back of the van. Scott, whose defense in lacrosse is marked not by his ability to hit but by his willingness to hold back his raw strength. Kira, who could slice a man to ribbons with her katana. Malia, her leg swinging in a kickboxer's arc, painful and on target every time. Isaac, his long arms reaching out, a fist finding home. Lydia, her gaze calculating as she fluidly practices the motions her boyfriend showed her, before they were together.

Stiles imagines his friends, their strength, their power, and he knows that he is strong.

 _"You are not welcome here,"_ Stiles growls, and he faces the being with a fury that is white-hot. He knows that he has the power. He can cast this creature out, shut it away and never let it back in.

 ** _No,_ ** the creature hisses, and as it steps forward Stiles shifts on his feet, Lydia coming into focus in his mind's eye. He moves with her, grabbing the being's arm and sending into the air in a wide arc.

 _"You will leave, now,"_ Stiles continues, channeling Malia's rage into a kick that sends the thing flying across the room again.

 ** _You will not defeat_ _me,_ ** the entity spits, and Stiles punches it square in the chest, feeling his fist twist like Isaac's.

 _"I already have,"_ Stiles replies coldly, and he feels Derek's strength spring into him as he pulls a broken shelf out of the wall and breaks it on his knee. Kira's hands guide his own as he spins the makeshift stake, flipping it sharp side forward.

He is strong when he plunges the wood into the creature's chest.

There is no sound. The creature twists once, desperate, and then it goes limp. Stiles feels a spark of triumph in his chest before everything fades to black.

 

* * *

 

 

Stiles feels pleasantly warm.

There are spots behind his eyelids and he slowly cracks them open, blinking in the sunlight. He realizes a few things fairly quickly:

1) He is not in the apartments. He is in the van.

2) The team is in the process of packing said van.

3) No one is dead.

4) Jay is talking to Isaac outside of the front door.

5) Stiles' head is on Derek's chest.

6) DEREK IS HOLDING STILES.

7) DEREK

8) IS

9) HOLDING

"How are  you feeling?" Derek murmurs, and Stiles tries valiantly not to shiver at the rumble he feels between his back and Derek's chest. It's like the only avalanche you'd want to die in. Or live in. Or generally be around.

"Why-?" Stiles begins, but he isn't sure what he's about to say. Probably ' _why are you holding me??!?1!'_. Although ' _why am I here_ ' and ' _why are we (I) alive_ ' are more appropriate, given the circumstances.

"You passed out. I assume that spell took a toll," Derek says gruffly, and he sounds suspiciously angry, like he wants to murder the spell. Which is silly, because it's a spell.

"Hey, at least it wasn't a pound of flesh," Stiles answers, wincing as the aches and pains return to his body- and notably, his throat. _Glad to see that's still bloody and torn._

"Not funny," Derek growls, and his arms tighten. Stiles feels his heart do a backflip onto his tongue, which is _not okay_ , thank you. He like his heart in his chest where it belongs.

"We're set to go," Scott announces as he slides the van door open all the way. Stiles blinks, watching Scott's marked lack of reaction at the scene Stiles and Derek make in the third row.

"All right," Derek replies, and Stiles tries to silently mouth and eyebrow-wiggle an explanation from Scott, who seems frustratingly content with simply giving Stiles pleased smiles.

Stiles decides he doesn't care when Derek doesn't move and they spend the whole trip home lying on the third-row seats.

 

* * *

 

 

Stiles convinces Derek that they need to 'do the sleepover thing' because really, no one is ready to go home.

It's been a long five days of investigation and Stiles can feel his body aching with use. The possession, screaming, concussions- it's like lacrosse times five. Plus a little extra. Derek doesn't argue, only makes Stiles sit as the crew get things tidied up. There's a reception room with a daybed and sofas that they rarely use; Derek finds Stiles' secret sleepover stash and- with only an expressive eyebrow wiggle- sets the pillows and blankets up fairly quickly. Kira and Scott get the daybed while Malia, Lydia, and Isaac get their own couches. Derek makes the cutest blanket nest Stiles has ever seen and simply pulls Stiles down onto it, raising his chin at Isaac like the guy should know what to do.

Which apparently he does. Isaac shuts off the lights and the team shuffle in their sheets, getting comfortable. As Stiles begins to drift, he can't help but mumble at Derek.

"See. Told you this was a good idea."

 

* * *

 

 

The morning smells like pancakes. Stiles decides fairly quickly that iHop isn't bad if it means he gets to sleep in.

Once again Stiles finds himself resting against Derek's back. _I could get used to this,_ he thinks. He smiles a bit and tries to stop himself from laughing, hoping Derek isn't awake yet.

"Hungry?" Derek asks, and Stiles dies a little inside because Derek's morning voice is rough and soft and really extremely _adorable._

"Mmmn. Lazy," Stiles replies, stretching like an oversized cat. Stretching in the morning is, in his opinion, the best thing ever. Especially after a good night's sleep.

"We should get you some food," Derek replies, and he sounds faintly amused. Stiles grins, turning to see the face he'd imagined. Half-lidded hazel eyes, mouth pulled barely a centimeter upward at the corner.

_Trademark Derek._

"Well, I should _also_ get me s-,"

"Hey, I know it's morning, but could you not? We're in the next room, not the next country," Isaac drawls from the doorway and Stiles sends a pillow flying his way.

"Yeah, yeah," Stiles says loudly and as he starts to get up he catches Derek's red cheeks from the corner of his eye. _Is he blushing? Did he just BLUSH at my dirty joke?_

He doesn't have time to wonder because Derek tugs him gently into the office, leading the way to a table laden with breakfast foods. The team are all eating and chatting, sweatpants and ponytails highlighted with the light from the silver-lined windows. Stiles feels a smile tug the corners of his mouth.

"Stiles. I'm glad to see you're doing well," Deaton says, and Stiles almost jumps up a wall.

"You're- here!" Stiles manages, shocked. Deaton smiles enigmatically but there's a hint of sorrow behind his eyes.

"Yes. I'm sorry you all had such a difficult time. If I'd been here...well, it seems like you did a good job, Stiles," Deaton amends.

 _He's remembering the Hales,_ Stiles thinks to himself, and he glances at Derek, suddenly worried. The case was hard and it most certainly had an effect on everyone but Stiles had never considered the extra damage it might have done to Derek.

But watching Derek you'd never know. In fact, he looks....happy. Stiles isn't sure what to do with this information, so he tucks it away and starts loading his plate instead.

"It wasn't just me," Stiles mumbles, glancing at Lydia. She catches him looking and sends him a secret smile, the relief in her eyes clear. They're all looking relieved. _Like it was a bad dream and it's finally over._

"No. But I suspect you did more than you realize," Deaton says quietly, so quietly that Stiles almost doesn't catch it. He does, though, and he's suspicious for a moment.

Deaton's always been hard to read, though, so Stiles almost doesn't try.

Almost.

When he looks at Deaton, though, he feels something like a string- there's a string being pulled in his mind and he follow it like a compulsion. It's like the feeling you get when there's a hair on your arm- the faint knowledge that _something_ is there. Stiles holds onto that feeling, mental fingers reaching blindly for the tickle, the touch.

He senses amusement. Curiosity. Something sharp- cunning, maybe.

"You're testing me?" Stiles blurts, and the team is immediately silent. He can feel their eyes on him as he stares at Deaton. The man's lips twitch minutely.

"What do you mean?" Deaton asks, and _there it is again._ The brush of a feather, a little touch of something. Stiles grabs a hold of it like a lifeline.

This time it's clearer. Stiles focuses, imagining he's following a cord to its source. He concentrates on the curiosity, singling it out as the emotion grows stronger, boils down to a hard, concrete thought.

_"Can he tell what I'm feeling?"_

"Yes," Stiles blurts, blinking as if the sun is shining in his eyes. The intensity of the thought radiates in his mind. "Yes...I can tell."

"...I'm lost," Isaac deadpans, eyes traveling between Deaton and Stiles.

"Stiles, are you okay?" Scott asks, a concerned frown twisting his mouth.

"I believe...that you have latent ESP," Deaton says, eyes sparkling.

" _What?_ "

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who stuck it through! I love you all SO much. Please, remember these things:
> 
> 1) Your reviews/kudos/bookmarks/subscriptions are the motivation for my writing. ESPECIALLY reviews. It's a form of validation- it's the knowledge that SOMEONE cares and someone WANTS to read.  
> 2) We are all human. I may have some lulls in writing but I will always try not to stay away for too long.
> 
> In any case, thank you all. I'd really like to continue this 'verse, as it is one of my favorites. I'd like some feedback on that- it wouldn't be worth the time if you all don't want to see it! Please remember to share and review and THANK YOU x infinity is not even enough. Have a great summer and I'll see you soon!

**Author's Note:**

> Wow! So this was a totally random idea but I got the bug to write it. My computer recently crashed and I lost a ton of work on sequels! I was incredibly disheartened but I figured I'd take the opportunity to start a new series. So here we go- ghost hunter pack! Please read, review and share!


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